DYSTOPIA [hs] |Complete|

vii - Conviction.

     We spent a few hours, rummaging through the shops of the town. It wasn't as deserted as we thought it would be, but there were no humans around which made our job even easier. Harry and I shared only a few words, and shared seconds of glory if we found items which were necessary. An abandoned auto shop had multiple cars, and even more fuel. Each keg was filled at around fourty gallons, which were too heavy to carry and there were so many that it would be a countless return trip, and we just didn't have the time.

     Harry offered to bring the car over, seeing as we took care of any company (which wasn't a lot), so the place was relatively quiet. Once the sound of gravel crunching underneath tires was heard, I lifted one red keg, filled to the brim and carried it out to see Harry jump out of the Land Rover and offered to take it off my hands.

     "I'm fine." I turn away from him and move to the boot of the car, where it was slightly cracked open. I dropped the keg, lifting the trunk and placing it carefully in yet still managing to hear the slosh of the fuel.

     Harry tried to carry two, but failed once he dropped one on his foot then the rest came tumbling after. He stumbles over one, which led to him falling onto the gravel and moaning at the throbbing pain his big toe produced.

     "Harry Styles isn't Macho Man, eh?" I laughed at his inconvenience and felt slightly guilty that I felt no remorse for him, but only found humour in his pain.

     "I'm suffering, and you somehow find it funny? Aren't you lovely."

     "My inner sadist is cackling. Now stop your moaning, and get this stuff in the trunk. I'm gonna see if there's anything else we've missed."

     "I've already checked."

     I decided to not reply and ignore him. The auto shop wasn't small, nor was it big. There were only two cars inside, one had been raised by the hydraulics, and the other had been completely demolished and parts were missing, such as the windscreen, steering wheel, back seats, and the car battery. Whomever left here had gone off in a hurry, considering the state of the shop they just left off... or they were still here but not living. Just roaming around, dead.

     Spanners and wrenches, hammers, nails, and other tools just lay about. Harry's spare backpack lay on the workbench as I bent over to grab any equipment that may become a necessity. It was once I grabbed a handful of implements did I notice a red toolbox underneath the wooden work bench. I knelt over and grabbed it, taking notice that it was heavy and for all the right reasons. Inside was stocked with tools, and no way was I going to leave these behind.

     Countless minutes passed when I finally gave up on the place. There was nothing that we needed, nor wanted. Harry had been waiting in the car once I stepped out of the workshop. He wasn't aware of my presence until I slammed the door shut, to which he jumped and cleared his mind of whatever was bothering him. A nod was all he gave as he saw the toolbox in my lap, reversing the car and driving off.

     The tension between us was thick, and I was still extremely pissed and absolutely furious for what he did back at the Antique Shop. It was a dick move, such a dick move. Even worse, he took my knife so I was left almost defenceless. What I didn't understand was his intention. Why he would do something like that, then expect me to be fine with it. He's drowning in his own ego, and so far up his own ass he doesn't realise that other people's lives are also valuable — just as his is.

     What if I had been bit? What if the damn walker got to me? Would he have killed the walker if I didn't have the gun with me, or would he have left me to die, or worse, turn.

     The car suddenly sprung so high that I had to grip onto the dashboard so I didn't have a repeat of bashing my head on the side window.

     "What did you go over?"